


Most Cordially Invited

by aldiara



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Bring Back The Porn Challenge, First Time Bottoming, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Mirror Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26243047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldiara/pseuds/aldiara
Summary: In which a formal invitation is extended, a royal mirror is defiled, and Alex cusses a lot.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 37
Kudos: 362
Collections: Bring Back The Porn Challenge





	Most Cordially Invited

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Bring Back the Porn 2020. Look, I’m sure everyone and their Aunt Betsy have already done a take on Alex’s first time bottoming, but far be it from me to be accused of originality, lol.

~~~

The mirror was Henry’s idea.

He’d said the positioning would be easier this way, but Alex objected – _“pouted,”_ said Henry – about wanting to see his face, so Alex had watched, slightly distracted by horniness but still supremely amused, as a Prince of the Realm dragged a massive gold-framed mirror – probably one of the storied, centuries-old pieces of Kensington Palace, because everything in this place was fucking centuries old – across the room and propped it at the head of his bed. He appeared entirely unbothered by the fact that he was naked and his hard dick occasionally dragged against the frame, besmirching the polished gold curlicues with royal precome.

So there it is: huge, gleaming, probably worth a gazillion fucking pounds. Showing in relentless detail the way Alex is hunched over on his knees, naked and sweaty and hard, while Henry is watching him over his shoulder, gently kneading his balls, slowly teasing at his arse with a lube-slicked thumb. 

Alex doesn’t regret his earlier objection, exactly – he does have a vaguely pathetic need to see Henry’s face, both so he can have that anchor line of eye contact and so he doesn’t miss any of Henry’s reactions – but… well. It’s a mirror. It doesn’t exactly let you hide anything.

Alex is well familiar with the sight of his own face; it comes with the territory. There are probably thousands more pictures of him out there in the world than he will ever see or know about. But there are no pictures of him looking like this – god, there had better not be – and the boy in the mirror is a creature he hardly recognises: his hair an absolute mess of tousled, damp curls, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look almost black, half-lidded, glazed with pleasure. His mouth is hanging open, lips obscenely plump, a little swollen from sucking Henry’s cock earlier. His skin is flushed with hectic colour. And that’s just his face. He squeezes his eyes shut, mind reeling.

“No, love.” Henry’s hand cups his chin, pulling it back up. “Look at yourself. I want you to see.”

Alex drags his eyelids open. The sight of his exposed, wanting body is doing things to him that are not entirely comfortable, so he seeks out Henry’s face instead. He lets himself be soothed by the familiar sight of Henry’s elegant cheekbones, soft lips, the way his blue eyes blaze with arousal in a wild, greedy way that is very at odds with the polished, elegant setting of his features.

“Look at you,” Henry says softly, never taking his eyes off Alex’s face. “You utterly scrumptious tart.” His fingers are warm and knowing, rolling Alex’s balls just so. It’s like he can _feel_ them swelling, yearning into the teasing touch of Henry’s palm. Henry’s thumb, slippery with lube, has been rubbing at Alex for what feels like eons, mere teasing circles against his taint, fleeting caresses on his rim. Alex, who has been braced most gamely for penetration, writhes on the exquisite torture of having that thumb, just right with callous from horse-riding, prod and nudge at the sensitive curl of flesh that wants to clench and gape at the same time. When Henry finally pushes it inside, Alex lets out a groan that has been building as long as the anticipation.

Henry is nipping at his neck, his cheek, his shoulder, in open-mouthed caresses that can’t seem to decide if they want to be bites or kisses. “You are so bloody hot.” 

Alex watches, fascinated, as Henry watches him; pushes back to welcome the slow, hot rub of Henry’s thumb. Fuck, he wants more. He can feel Henry’s cock, warm, slick, and very hard, against his thigh, and his insides clench around Henry’s thumb involuntarily. In the mirror, he watches his own mouth drop open, moaning, almost begging.

“Henry. Fuck. More.”

Henry sucks in a deep breath, momentarily squeezing his eyes shut. Opens his mouth, almost reluctantly.

“Are you sure?” __  
  
Alex groans. At some preliminary point in the evening, while they tumbled into Henry’s bedroom in a messy tangle of kisses, promises, and half-shed clothes, he kind of expected that question, because Henry is nothing if not solicitous, bless him. But to be asked that when they are both already very naked, very hard, and very sweaty, when Henry has Alex’s balls cupped in his hand and his thumb inside Alex, circling it too fucking slowly inside him, is a little absurd.

“Uhm, what part about me rubbing my ass all over your dick is giving you the impression I’m not sure, exactly? Do you need an invitation embossed on White House stationery?”

Henry huffs a soft laugh that gusts across Alex’s shoulders, making him shiver. “Well, it hadn’t occurred to me, but now that you mention it, I absolutely do need one, yes.”

“Jesus fuck,” Alex swears at a particularly evil, too-shallow, too-slow caress. “Okay. His Royal Highness Prince Henry is hereby most cordially invited to fuck Alex Claremont-Diaz, FSOTUS, into a quivering mess of jelly, and if he doesn’t get on with it inside of the next five minutes, said FSOTUS is going to jizz all over said HRH’s fancy golden mirror and leave him to jerk off by himself like the sadistic, horny bastard he is. Signed, etc. Paper copy to follow.”

Henry laughs again, and the sound of it is doing stupid things to Alex’s insides. “All right. Invitation genially accepted, etc. But I _will_ insist on that paper copy.”

“For what, selling it on Etsy?” Alex has to bite the inside of his lip when Henry pulls out his thumb, only to replace it a second later with two long fingers, sliding effortlessly into him. Their combined girth is wider than the thumb and Alex doesn’t seem to be having any trouble adjusting; if anything, he’s feeling hot and restless, wanting more. Maybe his ass is just naturally slutty.

“No,” Henry murmurs, moving his fingers deeper and then _crooking_ them, and oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Alex bucks and gasps as Henry leans over him, his sweet, posh voice a mere breath in Alex’s ear. “I’m going to frame it and put it on display next to the crown jewels in the Tower. For future generations.”

“I’m sure future generations will be utterly delighted- oh fuck, Henry, please.” He’s nearly sobbing now. He’s made the occasional… foray, when he was by himself, and sure, it felt nice, but it was nothing like this, like he’s being lit on fire from within and it’s only making him want to burn brighter. Henry’s fingers are rubbing inside him relentlessly, repeating that rhythmic, curling motion until coloured spots dance across Alex’s vision. He can’t believe he’s been missing out on all this prostate-y goodness for years.

“Henry, fuck, I swear to god-”

“Yes?” Henry runs his other hand up Alex’s chest, in a pretence of support that’s only really a poor cover for a sneaky attack on his nipples, which Henry fucking _knows_ are extra-sensitive. He gasps when Henry plucks at one, then the other, twisting almost – _almost_ – gently. “You swear what?” Henry murmurs, licking a long, wet stripe up the side of Alex’s neck.

Alex has his hands braced against the wall on either side of that ridiculous mirror, so close to it he’s intermittently fogging up the glass. His forearm muscles are trembling with the effort of holding himself there. He really, really wants to touch himself, but he’s afraid if he lets go even for a second, even with one hand, he’s going to collapse. His hips are jutting mindlessly, shoving back onto Henry’s long, elegant, too-clever, too-slim fingers.

“I swear… fuck… I swear if you don’t get your dick inside me right the fuck now I’m going to scream loud enough to bring the fucking Queen investigating.”

They’re pressed against each other so closely that he can feel Henry shudder-twitching with aborted laughter. “God. Don’t. Okay.”

There’s a quick rustle with the condom wrapper, and then, oh fuck yeah, finally, the hot pressure of Henry’s crown against his wet, softened, open hole. Alex is sure there are at least a dozen lame jokes to be had about _Henry’s crown_ but he is too far gone to tease or think or care, not when he finally gets that thick, slow breach that he’s been waiting for, and it’s both as he imagined and not at all. He knows this from taking Henry but it’s so utterly different from the other side; to be the one to open up and accept that strange, careful slide of entry, both welcome and invasive, that he can only open his mouth in a confused, soundless gasp and arch his hips, helplessly inviting Henry to sink deeper.

“That’s it,” Henry says, breathless and sounding gratifyingly wrecked, into Alex’s ear. “Oh, yes, love. Just like that.” He’s pulling back and pushing in again, too careful, a slow, delicious drag across Alex’s prostate and then deeper. Alex is absolutely never going to tell him what it does to him to hear Henry say in that sweet, honey-posh accent, _love_.

“Fuck me,” Alex all but begs; he can’t think of anything else or a less crude way to put it. “Fuck, fuck, ohmigod, just, Henry, I need, just let me have it, _fuck me._ ”

Henry fucks him. Alex’s mind is so rarely focused on just one thing, a myriad of distractions always teasing at the edges, demanding his attention; but he is focused now, or rather too lost in pleasure to think. His mind blanks with the throbbing joy of having Henry moving inside him, stroking him from the inside out, hard and pulsing and delirious with wanting him.

There’s no escaping the view in the mirror now, and Alex has gone beyond the instinct to _want_ to escape. Instead, he’s transfixed by the sight of his naked, aroused body, the way his teeth dig into his roughed-up lip to keep in some presumably very undignified noises; the way his hard dick bounces under the force of Henry’s thrusts. He’s leaking so much he’s leaving smears across his belly. Henry’s arm across his chest is firmly anchoring him; Henry’s other hand is clenched around his hip, holding him in place. Alex’s knees are spread as wide as they’ll go without sending him toppling; he’s trying to give Henry as much room as he can, to get deeper in him, more, harder, faster.

He must have gasped some of those as actual instructions, because Henry murmurs breathless assent and changes his pace, deepening his thrusts. He’s bent forward against the straining curve of Alex’s back just enough so the angle inside him is absolutely fucking _maddening_ , dragging across his prostate on every thrust, and Alex wants to scream loud enough to bring the whole damn palace down. 

Henry’s eyes are glued to him in the mirror, and not his face, either, Alex notes with hysterical, blissed-out amusement. “You’re dripping, sweetheart,” he murmurs in Alex’s ear on a hot gust of unsteady breath and a particularly deep thrust. Alex whines, tilting his hips, and can’t help following the line of Henry’s hot blue gaze, although he’s burning up with horny embarrassment. It’s true. His dick is dark-red and swollen, a bead of fluid forming at the slit under his gaze, then slipping down the shaft and – yeah, fuck, _dripping_ down onto the royal-seal-embroidered sheets.

He’s no stranger to the idea of getting off on himself. He’s spent plenty of times watching his dick while jerking off, enjoying the sight of his taut, sweaty stomach muscles, his shaking thighs, the arc of come coating his fingers and spraying on his chest. But this is different: being ploughed expertly, held at the unvoiced edge of someone else’s pleasure, a straining mess of _wanting_ , a voiceless begging for release. Alex doesn’t know what to do with the immediacy of his reflection: he wants, at the same time, to cringe at the utter vulnerability of his exposure, and to rejoice in the taut, aroused arch of his own body, the wanton display of a man being fucked hard for the first time and loving every second of it.

Henry has slid his hand down finally, those long, elegant fingers wrapping around Alex’s slick cock. He’s pumping him in time to his thrusts, the swollen head poking from his fist on every plunge, and fuck, Alex can see and feel _everything_. It’s both too much and not enough.

“You are so hot like this.” Henry’s voice comes out as a near growl, his teeth a scraping promise against Alex’s neck. Alex wants him to bite him, suck him, mark him up. Alex, when getting fucked, is apparently a caveman. That’s just fine. 

“Come for me, gorgeous,” Henry breathes, on a hard, wicked thrust, his thumb flicking the wet slit of Alex’s glans, and that is all it takes: his back arches as he contracts, with a hoarse cry, around the thick length inside him, and he comes in a dizzying rush, spraying in thick spurts across that priceless mirror. It seems to go on forever. He’s so lost to it he almost falls forward when he feels Henry still and shudder, that firm arm across his chest losing its anchoring strength. Alex pushes his hands into the wall, bearing them both up, while Henry moans and comes inside him, triggering another long, slow, delicious squeeze of Alex’s ass. God. He rolls his hips and milks Henry, shaking, squeezing the final shudders of his climax out of him. He thinks, vaguely, that one of these days they really need to have a talk about condoms and exclusivity: because fuck it, next time, he wants Henry’s come spurting inside him, leaving him slick and used, trickling down his thighs when he is done. 

There’s something hard against his face. Cool glass, fogged up by his erratic breaths. Alex shoves off it, shakily, and drops to the tangle of sheets in a boneless mess, with Henry’s body draped warmly across his. He can’t breathe super-well, but he doesn’t mind. Henry is still inside him, not entirely comfortable now. Alex can tell he’s going to be sore tomorrow, and the thought has him smiling dopily like some dick-addled moron. Bloody hell. He needs to get his shit together, only it’s hard when he’s so limp and well-fucked and slowly dripping jizz.

“Hey, babe?” he murmurs, experimentally stretching out his tight-muscled legs. He can still feel them, just about. That is excellent news.

“Mmmphhh.” Henry’s a warm, utterly relaxed weight against his back. “I’m just. Right. Give us a sec.”

He sounds as fucked-out as Alex feels, which is something of a comfort. When he does pull out eventually, Alex grimaces at the weird loss of contact that’s part relief, part strange emptiness. He sighs, leverages his body to buck Henry off him and rearrange them until they’re flopping on the bed. He ends up wriggling gracelessly until he can face Henry in the mucked-up sheets. 

Henry looks… gone. Sweet and relaxed and thoroughly sated, his sharp-boned face rearranged into a warm, loosened smile that reminds Alex just how utterly, ridiculously, thoroughly in love he is.

“Hey, Highness. Well done thinking of England.” He leans in to put a sloppy kiss on Henry’s nose, then finds himself caught up in a slow, lingering kiss, because somehow Henry has trapped his lips and poisoned his mouth. He is tricksy like that.

“Indeed. It was not so much of a chore as one might think, quite.” Henry mumbles into his mouth, wrecking Alex’s lips with long, thorough kisses. “Well done enduring it, my dear.”

“Nghhh. Yeah, well. I have bad news for you.”

Henry’s dark-gold, ridiculously long lashes flicker at that, his cloudy blue gaze sharpening on Alex’s face. “Oh?”

Alex nods sombrely. “You’ll need to keep doing that at least twice a week, I’m afraid. Transcontinental cordial relations will not permit anything less.”

Henry’s soft, sweet mouth curls into the lazy smile that Alex is not at all obsessed with, thank you very much. 

“Don’t worry. England shall prevail.”


End file.
